The Wrong Right
by bemj11
Summary: Kirk wakes up on the bridge, but nothing is the way it's supposed to be. Sulu throws order Kirk thrown in the brig, and Chekov is all too willing to escort him there. Who's dead? Where's Scotty? Chekov is a spy? Chapter Eight.
1. Chapter 1

James Kirk blinked in the light, trying to coerce his mind into operating through the hazed that seemed to have settled over it. His vision finally focused enough for him to make out the face of Hikaru Sulu looming over him.

He was on the ground, Kirk realized, lying on his back. Sulu had knelt beside him and was staring into his face. A chill swept through Kirk as he met the helmsman's eyes; there was no concern there, only suspicion.

Kirk slowly began to sit up. Sulu moved back away from him as another person moved in. Kirk was hauled roughly to his feet and shoved into a chair.

He looked up into the cold, emotionless eyes of Pavel Chekov.

Kirk opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced by Chekov. "Shut up." The words were spoken flatly, the tone cool, but the threat behind the order was obvious. Kirk would be silent, or Chekov would make him.

Sulu moved to stand beside the other man. He and Chekov stood there, arms crossed, and studied Kirk in silence.

Something wasn't quite right here, but Kirk was still too dazed to figure it out.

Finally, Sulu spoke. "Escort him to the brig. Hold him there for questioning." Sulu turned his back on Kirk and went to speak with one of the crew.

Again Kirk was hauled up; Chekov practically dragged him across the bridge and into the turbolift. "Don't try anything." Chekov warned as the doors closed. "You'd be dead before you could even think about it."

Kirk didn't argue with him. The lack of sense behind that action was only part of it; he wondered where Chekov's accent had gone. The Russian tinge that Kirk had grown so used to hearing in the man's voice was missing. It was unsettling.

* * *

As if in a dream, Kirk was escorted down the hall and to the Security Department. Chekov shoved him into the brig and activated the force field in the doorway. He left Kirk there without another word.

Kirk sat down as dizziness threatened to overwhelm him. He blinked as his vision clouded, and had to force back the darkness. He needed to think.

Why had Sulu and Chekov been acting so oddly? Why had they thrown him in the brig? He tried to remember what had happened before he had awakened on the bridge, but his head was throbbing. He couldn't remember.

He stood to pace, unable to sit still any longer. A spasm of pain shot through his right leg, and he fell.

Dizziness again overwhelmed him, and his vision blurred. This time he could not resist the darkness.

Kirk was somehow on the bunk when he awoke, leaning against the wall behind him. Chekov was there again, sitting in a chair he must have brought with him.

His right foot was propped up in Chekov's lap, and his pants leg had been cut away just above the knee. It made Kirk almost ill to see what was left of his leg.

Chekov didn't seem bothered by the sight of the blackened, burned flesh, nor did he seem to notice the smell. His head was bent over Kirk's leg as he studied the damage.

"You don't allow prisoners to be treated by a doctor?" Kirk gasped as Chekov prodded at his injured leg.

"We don't have a doctor." Chekov replied. "You felt that? Good."

Kirk's heart skipped a beat. Where was Doctor McCoy? And why was Chekov acting as if he didn't know Kirk? Nothing was right here, hadn't been since he had awakened on the bridge.

"Who are you?" Chekov asked, reaching into what Kirk hoped was a medikit. He pulled out a dispenser of some sort and showed it to Kirk. It was merely some type of ointment used for treating serious burns.

"You don't know?" Kirk replied to Chekov's question with one of his own. He gritted his teeth as the other man began treating his leg.

"If I knew, I wouldn't ask." Chekov answered evenly. This was not the Chekov Kirk knew. This man was cold, unemotional, and dangerous.

"James." Kirk told him. "James Kirk." Somehow he sensed that his rank meant nothing now, at least, not to Chekov.

Chekov asked nothing else while he bandaged Kirk's leg, and Kirk couldn't think of anything to say either. Finally Chekov released Kirk's leg. "Any other injuries?" He asked.

"My head feels funny." Kirk admitted. "And I may have done something to my wrist."

"Head down." Chekov brought Kirk's head to rest on his knee. In contrast to his hard, cold demeanor, gentle fingers examined the back of his head thoroughly, running lightly through his hair and over the back of his neck. Kirk winced as Chekov found a soft spot, but more out of reflex than because it was very painful.

Chekov lifted his head and studied him intently. Kirk's eyes, ears, temples, Chekov read the man's face with an almost excruciating intensity. What he was looking for, Kirk had no idea.

"You have a slight concussion." Chekov told him. "It will heal. Let me see your wrist."

He quickly examined Kirk's wrist. "It's sprained." He announced shortly. "Anything else?"

"I don't think so." Kirk told him. "Thanks."

Chekov eyed him critically. "I am merely doing my job." He replied.

Kirk opened his mouth to ask just what his job was, but his question died as Chekov snapped to attention.

Sulu had entered the brig. "Why is it the brig is the only place on the ship free of monitoring devices? Sit down."

Chekov didn't blink. "Because you locked me in there for two weeks to make sure it was escape proof." He replied as he sat back down.

"I should lock you in my quarters sometime, then" Sulu mused.

"Then I could plant more than I already have." Chekov reminded him. "Then I might actually be able to get something on you."

It _sounded_ like Chekov and Sulu, like a conversation they might have had, but something was off. It didn't feel right to Kirk, but he wasn't sure why.

"Of course." Sulu agreed. "I'll take it from here. You were supposed to go off duty half an hour ago."

"Given the circumstances-" Chekov began.

"I said I'd take care of it." Sulu snapped.

'Yes, sir." Chekov replied stiffly. He turned back to address Kirk as he left. "Harm him in any way, and I'll kill you." He informed him. Then he was gone.

Kirk stared after him in shock. This was unbelievable.

Sulu sat down in the chair Chekov had vacated. "Who are you?" He asked.

This time Kirk simply told him. "James Kirk." There was no recognition in Sulu's eyes, just as there had been none in Chekov's.

"Where are you from?"

Kirk hesitated, uncertain of how to answer.

"I'm from San Francisco." Sulu offered. "He-" Sulu nodded towards the door Chekov had left through, "is from Russia."

"Iowa." Kirk supplied, wondering what that could possibly tell him.

"How did you get here?" Sulu asked.

Kirk shook his head. "I'm not even sure where 'here' is, to tell you the truth." He admitted. "I'm sure it's not where I'm supposed to be, but then again I'm not even sure where _that_ is."

"Sounds like a problem." Sulu offered. "Especially if you turn out to be a spy. Then we'll have to kill you. Don't worry," Sulu said easily, standing up. "we'll find that out in the morning." He picked up the chair and left Kirk alone in the brig once more, one thought echoing through his mind over and over again.

Something definitely was not right here.

* * *

Kirk woke up in sickbay, strapped into one of the beds. Chekov stood over him, some sort of device in his hand.

"I did not find any signs of implants when I checked his head last night." He was telling Sulu. So _that_ had been what he was looking for, though what kind of implants he meant, Kirk didn't know.

Chekov turned on the device and began scanning Kirk's head. "Of course, they might have laced the implant in his spine instead." He added.

"Can they do that?" Sulu asked.

"I could." Both were silent as Chekov continued scanning Kirk for these implants, whatever they were. "Nothing." Chekov finally said, setting the scanner down and undoing the restraints that held Kirk. "Sit up." He ordered. "I need to check your spine." Kirk obliged the younger man. The sooner they decided he wasn't a spy, the more likely it was he would be able to figure out just what was going on here.

"Nothing." Chekov said again. "He's not a spy."

"Good." Came Sulu's response. "One of you is enough."

Chekov didn't flinch at the accusation. "I've paid for my crimes." He retorted. "Have you?"

"Not yet." Sulu admitted.

"You will, soon enough." Sulu didn't respond to Chekov's prediction, but instead turned back to Kirk.

"The question remains," he addressed Kirk almost cordially, "if you aren't a spy, who _are_ you?"

"He cannot be James Kirk." Chekov supplied. Both Sulu and Kirk turned to stare at him. "James Kirk from Iowa is dead."

"Yet here I stand." Kirk said, when finally he could speak again.

"Yet here I stand." Chekov echoes, and Kirk thought he detected a note of bitterness in his words. He turned to Sulu. "Nonetheless, James Kirk died at the age of thirteen, shot down in an alley on the way home from school."

"Shot down?" Sulu demanded. "By what?"

"Phaser, judging by the report. Set on high intensity." Chekov replied.

"Any pictures?"

"None legally obtainable." Sulu allowed himself a small, almost evil smile as Chekov continued. "The first blast caught the left side of his face. The attacker then fired again multiple times. The victim's side and chest were severely burned."

"Being thorough?" Sulu speculated. "Or something more?"

"If I wanted someone dead-"

"I've seen the remains of people you actually wanted dead." Sulu interrupted. "So who is this?" He asked, looking back at Kirk.

"James Kirk." Chekov replied. "Blood type matches, retina scans match, even DNA. This is him."

"How?" Sulu demanded.

Chekov shook his head. "I don't know. It isn't possible, but here he is."

"I need a drink." Sulu decided after a moment's silence. "Care to join me?"

Kirk wondered, as Chekov took him by the arm, if he had a choice.

* * *

Sulu poured out three glasses while Chekov prowled his quarters. He handed Kirk a glass before taking up his own, and proceeded to sit down in one of the chairs situated around what seemed to be a small conference table. Aside from the bed and the computer desk, this table and chairs were the only objects in the room. It bothered Kirk more than he expected that there were no plants, no foils, no signs of any hobby of any sort in Sulu's quarters.

Sulu propped his feet up on the table and took a sip from his glass. He wordlessly motioned for Kirk to take one of the other two chairs. Kirk did so, uneasily, and waited.

When Chekov finally joined them it was to sink unceremoniously into the remaining chair. He picked up his own glass and drained it. Sulu wordlessly refilled the glass, and Chekov emptied it once more.

"So?" Sulu finally asked.

"Fire your yeoman." Chekov replied. "We can't afford for them to know you know it's him, though, so dislike him for something stupid and fire him."

"Like what?" Sulu demanded.

Chekov shrugged. "He's French." He suggested.

Sulu drained his own glass and moved to fill his and Chekov's. Kirk's remained practically untouched. "I hate you." Sulu informed the younger man.

"I don't like you either." Chekov reminded him. It would have been reassuring, it was the kind of thing the two might have said to each other, but here and now these two were deadly earnest in this.

It wasn't right.

"So Kirk is dead." Sulu said. "Some sort of mistake? Some sort of secret? Some sort of trick?"

Chekov shook his head as he drained his glass a third time. Sulu frowned at him, but let it go. "Kirk is dead." Chekov said. "By all counts."

Sulu studied his own glass before setting it on the table. "Tell us about yourself, Kirk." He said at last.

Kirk frowned. "Before I woke up on the bridge I was a Starship Captain." Sulu's eyes flashed, but it was Chekov who asked the next question.

"What ship?"

"The _Enterprise_." Chekov was up and at Sulu's computer in an instant; Kirk was surprised to see him using an old styled keyboard.

"So you were a captain." Sulu repeated, waiting for Kirk to continue.

Kirk hesitated, unsure of how to go on. Whatever was going on here, this was obviously not the Sulu, or Chekov, he knew. The men he now spoke with were strangers in familiar guise, but strangers all the same. _Could_ Kirk trust them? He wanted to. As different as they were, Kirk still wanted to trust them. The question was, did he dare to?

"I served with First Officer Spock," Kirk finally continued, "and Doctor Leonard McCoy." Chekov was typing furiously away on Sulu's computer. "Nyota Uhura was my chief Communications Officer; Montgomery Scott was my Chief Engineer."

Chekov was scowling at the computer. Sulu noticed.

"What?" He demanded.

"They're all dead." Sulu stood and went to peer over Chekov's shoulder. "Except for Scott." Chekov amended. "He's in an institution. Mental." He added before Sulu could ask.

"What's going on here?" Sulu asked, frustrated. He turned to pace the small quarters. It was the first genuine bit of emotion Kirk had seen from the man.

Chekov drummed his fingers on the desk. "It is possible Kirk is lying to us." He suggested.

Sulu wheeled back to stare at him. "Do you believe that?" He demanded harshly.

"No." Chekov replied quietly.

"Exactly. Why do I believe him?" Sulu demanded. "Why do _you_ believe him?"

"I don't know." Chekov admitted.

Kirk decided to take the plunge. "You two were on the _Enterprise_ as well." He told them. "Helm. Navigation."

Sulu and Chekov exchanged a glance. Chekov stood abruptly. "I'm drunk." He announced; his words were actually slurred now where they had been clear only seconds before. "I'm going to my quarters and going to bed." He looked Sulu directly in the eye. "It's been bad lately."

Sulu nodded. "Don't forget to lock up." He reminded Chekov as he left. Sulu locked the door behind him. "No witnesses." He said softly.

He came to stand before Kirk. "What you say cannot be possible." He said, his voice low. "Your alleged crew, or most of it, is dead. Neither of us ever made it through Starfleet training, and there is no way a _human_ would ever become _Captain_ of a Starship. You have to be either lying or insane." He hesitated. "And yet for some reason I believe you. _Chekov_ believes your telling the truth, even though there is no way you could be."

Kirk scowled. "This isn't the way things are. Were." He corrected. "This- none of this is right."

Sulu turned to gaze at the files Chekov had left on the computer. "So we assume you speak the truth. You were a Captain. We were your crew. What happened? How did you get here?"

Kirk shook his head. "I don't know. I just woke up, and here I was."

"You woke up?" Sulu asked. "Were you sleeping?"

Kirk tried to remember. "I fell, hit my head." He recalled. "There was a fight."

"That explains your injuries." Sulu agreed. "Who were you fighting?"

A siren went off, and the lights flashed red. Chekov's voice came over the comm. "Red alert. We are being fired on by an enemy vessel. All hands to battle stations. Repeat, all hands to battle stations. Sulu, get up here fast. Bring our guest."

Sulu was out the door and running before Chekov's announcement had even ended. Kirk had no choice but to follow him to the bridge.

Disclaimer: Star Trek does not belong to me.


	2. Chapter 2

The bridge was in chaos. Red lights lit the area, and Chekov was involved in an argument with the crewman at the science station. "Who are they?" He demanded as the turbolift opened, and Kirk could tell from his tone that it was not the first time he had asked.

"I don't know!" Shouted back the science officer. "I can't get a reading."

"Why did they attack us?" Chekov shouted at the viewscreen. Kirk could see smoke drifting lazily from a console, and someone lay fallen on the bridge floor.

Silence fell over the bridge as Sulu stepped out of the lift. He quickly took his seat in the center of the bridge. Chekov escorted Kirk to a seat at the security station before relieving the hassled science officer.

Sulu was in charge here, then. Chekov was possibly his second in command.

"Two ships." Chekov reported. "Neither should be here. They are engaged in battle."

"Are we involved?" Sulu asked.

"One of them fired on us." Chekov replied. "It was attacking when the other ship engaged it."

"Who are they?" Sulu echoed Chekov's earlier question.

"No one." Chekov replied as he worked. "One is the _U.S.S. Enterprise." _If he recognized the name, Sulu did not react.

"And the other?"

"No data."

Sulu frowned. "They don't have computer banks?"

"I can't hack into them."

Sulu watched the battle on screen before them. Kirk recognized the _Enterprise_ right away. He also realized she was losing this battle. The _Enterprise_ was adrift, firing uselessly as the other ship circled around her, taunting.

Chekov realized it as well. "Target enemy vessel and fire." He ordered, and the helm team didn't hesitate; phaser fire raked the larger ship.

The enemy ship returned fire.

The results were disastrous. "Shields?" Sulu snapped as the blast rocked the bridge; that he had managed to stay in his seat was nothing short of a miracle.

"Still inoperative." Chekov retorted, pulling himself back into his own seat. "I'll have the engineer's head on a platter when this is over. Idiot."

The ship rocked again. Kirk was thrown from his seat once more. The communications officer shook his head hopelessly.

"We're dead." He said in shock.

Sulu didn't deny it. He turned to look at Chekov. "Did you know it would be today?" He asked, almost conversationally.

Chekov shook his head. "If I had, I would not have shown up for work today." He replied.

Sulu shrugged. "Better than being taken down by the Empire." He commented.

Chekov let loose a snarl in reply. "Live, or die fighting!" He spat, turning back to the helm team. "Fire."

It was no use. Everyone on the bridge knew it. A last hit shook the bridge. One console exploded. Others sparked into flame. Kirk found himself trying to duck in spite of the futility, but found himself paralyzed, unable to move. The world around him dissolved into nothingness.

* * *

Spock was there as Kirk stumbled off the transporter pad. "Captain." He greeted as he stepped forward to catch Kirk before he fell. He eased Kirk down. "I must return to the bridge." He said. "I will return shortly."

Kirk nodded, and breathed a sigh of relief as Spock departed. He wasn't sure what had just happened, but he was glad, for the moment, simply to be alive.

He was startled by a cry of pure fury behind him. He turned; for the first time since all this had begun the man actually sounded Russian, Kirk thought, as he screamed profanities at the ceiling in his native tongue.

Sulu ignored him, and sat down next to Kirk. "Was that your Vulcan? What was his name?"

Chekov broke off his tirade to answer. "Spock. He's dead as well." He sat down on Kirk's other side, once again the cold individual Kirk had seen back on Sulu's ship.

"And the _Enterprise_ doesn't exist." Sulu continued.

"We're dead too, now." Chekov said grimly. "The ship's been blown apart." There was no denying that much.

"Yeah." Sulu agreed, and the two fell into silence. "How long?" He asked after a minute. Chekov shrugged.

"Not too long." He replied wearily. Kirk wanted to ask what they were talking about, but the man changed the subject almost immediately. "So why were we destroyed?"

"Obvious, isn't it?" Sulu returned. "It's him." He nodded at Kirk.

Chekov frowned. "How did the other ship know?" He demanded. "_I_ don't know anything except that Kirk's dead. Besides, I may be a spy, but I am not suicidal." Did Sulu find that statement funny? Kirk couldn't tell for certain. None of the man's emotions seemed very real.

"I don't think it was you." Sulu assured the man. "I know you aren't suicidal, as surprising as the fact is with all things considered. Are we waiting for the Vulcan?"

Chekov growled. "Do we have a choice? I don't fight Vulcans. It's not in my contract."

"Some bodyguard you are." Sulu complained.

"Not anymore. I'm off duty." Chekov retorted. "I'm taking a nap. I feel hung-over for some reason." He shifted to lean his back against the wall, and before long was actually asleep.

Asleep, Chekov no longer seemed quite so cold or harsh, Kirk thought. He actually looked almost vulnerable to the Captain. His impassive expression had faded; he seemed weary now, almost weak.

Sulu watched Kirk study the other man. He seemed neither surprised nor bothered that Chekov was sleeping now. "I take it he's not what you're used to." Sulu commented when Kirk met his gaze.

Kirk shrugged. "Neither of you are." He admitted, feeling a bit lost. He looked back over at Chekov. "He was more open, more trusting. Less-" He stopped, unable to give words to the differences.

Sulu found the words for him. "Less callous." He offered. "Less openly threatening." He too turned to watch Chekov. He sighed. "So he graduated from Starfleet." Kirk thought he detected a wistful note in the statement.

"Both of you did." Kirk reminded him. "What happened?"

"He left." Sulu said after a moment. "His father was murdered, and he went home to take care of things."

"Then how did he end up out here, in space?" Kirk asked.

"He knew me." Sulu replied. "We had almost been friends, before he left. So the government drafted him as a spy and planted him on my ship."

"He really is a spy?" Kirk asked, uncertainly. There was still a lot that didn't make sense to him.

"Technically." Sulu replied. "He's also on my side." Sulu almost smiled at Kirk. "We're renegades." He explained. "Rebels against the Romulan/Klingon Empire. For years he managed to walk the fine line between spy and traitor to the Empire, until about a year ago when he saved my life."

Kirk was shocked, overwhelmed, but the question he found himself asking was probably the least relevant of those bothering him. "Why did he save your life, if you two hate each other so much?"

Sulu laughed. It was not a happy sound. "We may loathe and detest each other, Kirk, but the reality is that we work well together, and I can trust him more than anyone else on my ship. He hates the Empire more than I do, enough to blatantly defy their orders when he saved my life." Hard eyes turned to bore into Kirk's. "You don't defy the Empire and live."

The Empire. The Romulan/Klingon Empire. How had this happened?

Chekov was instantly awake as Spock returned. He was on his feet as Kirk and Sulu began to rise. Sulu leaned closer to Kirk as they stood. "This Vulcan, Kirk." He asked, either unaware or uncaring that Spock could hear him. "Do you trust him?"

Kirk smiled grimly. "With my life." He assured Sulu.

* * *

The four men were seated at various intervals around the conference table, attempting to determine just what was going on.

"It would seem," Spock surmised, "that when the being called Tirma 'leapt' into the past, you and I, being the closest in proximity to her, were to some degree protected from the effects of her jump."

"You were caught in her wake." Sulu suggested.

Kirk nodded. He remembered, now. They had been studying a recently discovered planet when out of nowhere two ships had appeared, one Klingon, and one Romulan. A strange being with pale blue skin and long curly hair of gold had then appeared on the bridge in the company of Romulans and Klingons, and announced that they would all die for their crimes.

He remembered the overzealous Romulan that had wanted to kill Kirk then and there. A fight _had_ broken out, Kirk remembered. He had not been the only one injured.

"The _Enterprise_ was immune as well, and at least one of the enemy's ships." Kirk commented. "She said she could open the ages. That she would go back and stop us from ever embarking upon our 'mission of evil,' as she called it."

"So she went back in time." Sulu suggested. "Changed the past. She killed some of your key personnel, altered the lives of others."

"Killed you." Chekov reminded Kirk from his seat; he had chosen a spot as far from Spock as possible and had refused to even look at the Vulcan.

Kirk frowned. "Then we have to stop her. We have to fix this."

"How?" Chekov demanded, eyes blazing.

"Travel back in time ourselves." Kirk replied heavily. He hated time travel. There was too much potential to really screw things up.

Sulu didn't seem overly enthusiastic about the idea either. "This is like something from some cheesy science-fiction horror story." He complained.

Spock merely shook his head. "We do not have the ability to go anywhere." He informed Kirk. "I was left alive for that reason only. We cannot run this ship with only four people."

"Chekov?" Sulu asked, and Kirk wondered if he were asking for Chekov's assessment of that fact. Spock was right, of course. They could not run the _Enterprise_ with only the four of them.

"Does Kirk trust me to hack into his computers?" Chekov asked evenly.

"Go ahead." Kirk said, though he doubted the man could do anything with the computers tha Spock could not.

Chekov moved towards the computer, which brought him to stand beside Spock. Sulu cleared his throat, and Chekov reluctantly sat down beside the Vulcan and busied himself with the computer.

Chekov was uneasy around Spock. He did not trust the Vulcan, and was reluctant to even be near him. Kirk wondered why.

"I can reprogram everything to be accessible through the helm." Chekov offered after a minute.

"You can do that?" Kirk was amazed. Spock was impressed as well, if the raised eyebrow was any indication.

"I was given a crash course in computer hacking by a Vulcan." Was Chekov's retort. "Do you want me to do it, or not?"

"Please." Kirk said, puzzled by the outright hatred Chekov seemed to have for Vulcans.

Not _his_ Chekov, Kirk reminded himself. Not in _his_ time. The Chekov very likely had a perfectly understandable reason for his almost blatant hostility towards Spock.

"Give me a few hours." Chekov replied.

"In the meantime," Spock said, "if we are going to stop Tirma and her companions, we must pinpoint the changes she has made in history."

"Yes," Kirk agreed, "our deaths." Spock raised an eyebrow.

"We know that most of you are dead." Sulu explained to the Vulcan. He did not seem to share Chekov's hatred of Spock's people. "Do we know when? Where?"

Chekov growled. "I'm busy." He reminded Sulu. "I can't do two things at once anymore." Nonetheless, he must have somehow found the information, because it appeared on the view screen on the table.

Sorting through the data before him, Kirk felt completely overwhelmed. "Where do we start?" He wondered. "_How_ do we start?"

Disclaimer: Star Trek does not belong to me.


	3. Chapter 3

Three hours later the ship was running, and Sulu and Chekov were at the helm.

The question remained; where did they go from here? Furthermore, once they found their people, what did they do then? How did they save them? How did they fix this?

"Found her." Chekov broke the worried silence. He looked tired, Kirk thought.

"The other ship?" Sulu asked. Chekov nodded.

Why were they looking for the other ship?

Then it hit Kirk. Of course. This ship had destroyed theirs. It had destroyed their crew. Their lives. They wanted revenge.

Sulu cursed. Chekov turned to stare at him. "We should fire." He insisted. "Finish them off."

Sulu shook his head. "There are more important things at stake here." He replied. Kirk was relieved, for a second.

"They destroyed our ship!" Chekov shouted at the other man. Sulu didn't blink. "Killed everyone on board. This-" He gestured broadly, "everything- is their fault. I want-"

"What _you_ want is of little consequence." Sulu reminded him coldly. "We will not jeopardize what little chance we have left to fix this. We will not fire." Chekov shrugged and turned back to his console, and Sulu turned back to his. That was the end of it, Kirk thought.

A second later Chekov fired on the ship. Sulu turned to glare at him, but the bridge jerked, throwing them both to the floor.

Sulu was up again in a second, but Chekov stayed down. "They're returning fire." He informed Kirk coolly as he tried to evade their attack.

At this point there was nothing else they could do. Chekov had forced their hand. Kirk sighed. "Return fire." He ordered.

* * *

"Your ship is breaking up." Sulu informed the enemy ship with apparent calm. "Prepare to surrender and beam over your crew." If he had a problem doing as Kirk had ordered, it did not show.

"We will die first." Came the angry reply.

"Picking up Klingon and Romulan life forms." Spock informed Kirk quietly. "And something else."

"Tirma?" Kirk asked. "Can you get a lock on it?"

"Your ship has only minutes left before total destruction." Sulu attempted to reason with the Romulan on screen. The Romulan scoffed at this; the screen went blank.

"Locking." Sulu muttered. "Shall I beam it over?" Kirk nodded, and Sulu kicked Chekov, who was starting to come around, a little harder than necessary. "Go to the transporter room and welcome our guest. Bring her back here _alive_."

Chekov didn't say a word, but hauled himself up and headed for the turbolift. There was a dark bruise forming at his temple, Kirk saw; he must have hit his head when he fell.

On the viewer before them, the enemy ship was breaking up. There would be no survivors. Sulu sighed. "What now?" He asked.

"We talk to our survivor." Kirk replied. "Maybe we'll get lucky."

"I'm taking our 'guest' to sickbay." Chekov's voice came over the comm. "She's injured. Badly. If you want to talk to her, you can do it down here."

* * *

"He's a doctor, too?" The question was out of Kirk's mouth before he had time to think about it.

Chekov didn't look up from the being on the bed. "_I_ am a spy." He snapped. "That means I get dropped somewhere where my job is to gather information, remain undetected, and stay _alive_." He let loose a snarl. "She's dying. I can keep her alive, but she's not going to get any better. And before you ask, I didn't do it. She was like this when she beamed over."

"Is she awake?" Kirk asked.

"For now."

Kirk moved forward to study the being responsible for all this. She stared up at him with haunted eyes. "You offered to take survivors." She murmured. Kirk nodded. "And you brought me here, to try to help me, after what I have done." Her eyes turned to Spock, and she reached towards him. "I am weak." She said. "I will not recover. Even now it is difficult even to speak."

Spock seemed to understand what she wanted, for he moved closer to her and placed his fingers against her face. He was mind-melding with her.

Chekov hissed and retreated, face pale.

Kirk didn't have time to ponder this reaction; Spock was speaking, though slowly. "They told her we were sent to destroy her. That we were conquerors, that we would use her against the Klingon and Romulan Empires. That we wanted to enslave the galaxy." He paused. "She sees now that they were lying. She will help us. The bridge is the catalyst; the bridge will restore your time. Bring your people to it, and we can restore your time. We will take you where you need to go."

Everything went black.

* * *

"Where are we?" Kirk groaned as he tried to decide whether or not to sit up.

"Sickbay." Sulu was up already, looking around.

"What happened?" Chekov groaned.

"We have jumped." Spock said slowly; he was still in the mind-meld with Tirma. "To help one, you must have the other. Their lives have always been intertwined."

"Whose lives?" Sulu asked, but Kirk knew. Even with all that had changed, Sulu and Chekov were still here together.

"Kindred spirits." Spock said. "Here is where you will find Hikaru Sulu."

Beside Kirk, Sulu paled.

* * *

"You cannot go down there." Sulu repeated firmly. "What happens if you get killed?"

Kirk shook his head. He would not send anyone down there if he would not go himself. "I have a responsibility to see this through." He insisted.

"You're injured." Chekov mentioned as he joined them. "I can't do anything else for her." He reported. "Your Vulcan is all that's keeping her alive."

"That reminds me." Sulu said, turning to Chekov. Abruptly he backhanded the younger man. "When I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed." He drew his phaser and leveled it at Chekov's chest; Kirk wondered how he had missed that both Sulu and Chekov were armed with phasers, and that Chekov carried a downright evil looking knife as well. "Do I need to worry about you screwing this up?" Sulu asked. "If there's going to be a problem, I'll solve it now."

Chekov glared back at him. "You'd be doing me a favor." He growled. They stood facing off a moment longer.

Chekov sighed. "You don't have to worry." He said at last. "I'm yours."

Sulu returned his phaser to its holster. Chekov licked his lips nervously.

"Let him go." He told Sulu, nodding towards Kirk. "I cannot go with you."

Sulu balked at that. "What?"

Chekov forced a smile that meant absolutely nothing. "My next fight will be my last." He predicted. Sulu stared at Chekov for a long moment before turning to Kirk.

"Come on." He said.

* * *

Kirk stopped once they reached the transporter room. Sulu sighed.

"Chekov is dying." He said in answer to the question Kirk hadn't asked. "I told you, you don't defy the Empire and live. Especially if you're a spy. They take steps to prevent that sort of thing." Sulu shook his head. "It's a miracle he's lived this long. Too stubborn to just die, I guess. Anyway, if he says a fight will kill him, then a fight will kill him." Sulu didn't seem overly upset at the thought of losing the other man. It was just another example of how wrong all this was.

"If he won't come with us...Does he expect trouble?" Kirk asked.

"Chekov always expects trouble. He also dislikes everyone, before you ask about his issues with Spock." Sulu hesitated. "Of course, it doesn't help that part of his induction into the world of espionage involved a forced mind-meld with his Vulcan mentor." He continued matter-of-factly on to the transporter pad.

Kirk follwed him, aghast. What kind of world did these men live in? How could his death, or any of their deaths, have changed everything so much?

No wonder Sulu and Chekov were the way they were.

Kirk hoped he could pull this off. This was not the way things were supposed to be. They had to fix this. Had to.

Disclaimer: Star Trek does not belong to me.


	4. Chapter 4

Hikaru Sulu gazed longingly in the direction of the foil that lay on his bed. The blade caught the light from overhead and gleamed invitingly. Hikaru sighed and turned back to his notes

He had a final tomorrow.

He had to pass. He threw his mind into his work; his notes, his book, past tests and homework, he had been through them all what seemed like a hundred times these past three weeks, trying to get ready for this final.

Everything else, all of his other classes, seemed like a piece of cake compared to this.

Besides, Hikaru reminded himself, there was no one on campus that would spar with him anyway.

Briefly he remembered a match; the small, dark haired teen had agreed and, like most everyone, had been quickly disarmed. He had promptly bent and picked up the foil. "Again." He had said.

Ten minutes later, the teen had been disarmed about fifteen times. He had scowled briefly at the foil before looking up at Sulu. "How do you vork this thing?" He had demanded, voice thick with an accent Sulu couldn't quite place.

Hikaru had laughed and given him his first lesson.

Then the teenager had left, without warning, without uttering a reason. He had simply walked out of the Academy and had never returned. Hikaru had been disappointed. He had liked the kid, in spite of how young he had been.

Final, Hikaru reminded himself. He was studying for a final.

A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts this time. "Hey, Sulu. There's somebody in the lounge wants to talk to you."

Hikaru groaned. He didn't have time for this right now. "Coming." He called. "Thanks."

He sighed as he stood. He stretched; he had been sitting for far too long anyway.

* * *

Hikaru studied the two men as he entered the deserted lounge. They were obviously the people looking for him; no one else was here. Everyone else was busy cramming for the morning's finals.

One sat impatiently, resisting the urge to pace, a man of action. He had an air of command about him, the sort of man that inspired you into following him across the galaxy to do courageous deeds.

Hikaru got a grip on the romantic in him and studied the other man. This man reminded Hikaru of himself; same hair, same skin, same eyes. This man was cold, calculating, desperate, though he had not always been so, but had become such out of necessity. Hikaru wasn't entirely sure how he knew this, but he knew it as certainly as he knew his own name.

"May I help you?" He asked, trying to be polite in spite of the urgency he was feeling. He needed to be studying right now, not talking to strangers.

"Yes." The first man replied simply. Here was a captain, if ever Hikaru had seen one. "You are Hikaru Sulu?" He asked.

Hikaru nodded. "Yes, sir." He replied.

The Captain smiled. "We need your help." He said.

Hikaru thought about it. "I have a final in the morning." He informed them. "I really can't afford to lose any more study time." Not if he wanted to pass.

The older Asian laughed. "You're going to fail it anyway." He said. "You know that."

Hikaru sighed, the sinking feeling returning as he admitted the older man was right, He had known from the beginning that he was going to have serious problems with this class, and every spare minute he had taken and devoted to the subject had only allowed him to barely survive the class this far so he could fail tomorrow.

The Captain shot the other man a look, but he didn't seem bothered. "You want to make it in Starfleet? Help us."

Hikaru eyed both men skeptically. "I'm just a cadet. What can I do?"

The Captain hesitated. "Do you know a Pavel Chekov?" He asked after a moment.

Hikaru nodded uncertainly. "Yes, sir. He was attending the Academy for a while, but then he disappeared. Why?"

"We need you to help us find him." The older Asian said.

Hikaru couldn't believe this. "What do you expect me to be able to do?" He demanded. "What makes you think I can help you find him?"

The Asian leaned forward to look Hikaru dead in the eye. "We're from the future." He said. Out of the corner of his eye, Hikaru saw the Captain frown. "He can handle it." The other defended himself.

And suddenly Hikaru understood. "I'm you." He said. The older man nodded.

The Captain intervened. "I thought we decided that-"

"That no one involved should know?" Hikaru asked. He was almost surprised by how well he was taking this. He had always known time-travel was theoretically possible, but this was amazing. He wondered if he should be concerned by the adult he would apparently become.

Sulu nodded. "Most people wouldn't be able to handle the knowledge."

"Not without it altering the future for the negative." Hikaru agreed.

"It still may." The Captain pointed out.

Hikaru shrugged. He was ready for this, he decided. "Too late now."

* * *

Chekov was not surprised to discover that the young man knew. "He used to be the most easygoing cadet in the Academy." He assured Kirk as he inspected his injured leg. "Some people considered it a fault, said he would never be officer material."

They watched as young Hikaru eyed everything with fascination; sickbay, Spock, Chekov, even his older self, but asked not a single question. Eventually he went and joined Sulu; the two were soon deeply involved in a conversation Kirk wasn't sure he wanted to know about.

"He is possibly the only one who _could_ know without causing serious problems." Chekov finally said.

"But why?" Kirk asked. "Why would Sulu take the risk?"

Chekov snorted. "Don't ask why, he'll only tell you it was because he felt like it." The glint in his eye, however, suggested that Chekov suspected more than he was letting on.

"Prepare to jump again." Spock informed them then, half a second before the world once again went black.

* * *

Hikaru helped Kirk up. "That was interesting." He commented. "I've never seen reality suddenly turn inside out and upside down at the same time and still look exactly the same as it did before."

Kirk blinked. Had Hikaru not blacked out with the rest of them? "You okay?" he asked the young man.

Hikaru laughed easily. This was more the Sulu Kirk remembered. "Of course, Captain." He said. "I'm not the one who fainted."

"Captain?" Kirk asked, worried. How much did he know? How much had Sulu told him?

Hikaru blushed. "You look like a Captain." He stammered. "Sorry, I can stop, if it bothers you."

Kirk smiled reassuringly at the young man. "Captain is fine."

"You must hurry." Spock warned as Sulu and Chekov recovered. "They-"

"Shut up!" Chekov cut him off. "It is enough to know that time is short."

Kirk made a mental note to ask Sulu what the problem was with Chekov _this time_ when they returned.

* * *

Disclaimer: Star Trek does not belong to me.


	5. Chapter 5

It was dark when they beamed down. And cold. And cluttered.

"Warehouse." Sulu commented. Kirk nodded.

What were they doing in a warehouse? He trusted Spock's guidance, but this was an odd place to beam down.

A scream shattered the silence, and Kirk exchanged a glance with Sulu.

_Time is short_, Chekov had said. Kirk headed in the direction of the cry, Sulu not far behind. Another cry quickened their pace.

They darted down a hallway as quickly as they dared, alert for any sort of threat. The screams grew louder as they moved, only to suddenly stop altogether. Kirk hoped they weren't too late.

The hallway opened up into a room. A teenager lay in the floor before them, curled up into a ball. He moved ever so slightly as they approached, however, and looked up at Kirk and Sulu with eyes that were wide with terror.

"It's okay." Kirk tried to reassure the boy; the teenager pulled back as Kirk started to move towards him. Sulu placed a restraining hand on Kirk's arm.

"Pavel?" He asked gently. The teenager blinked, his focus was on Sulu. "It's okay." Sulu told him, echoing Kirk's earlier statement. "We're going to get you out of here. Can you-"

Sulu jerked abruptly, and Kirk turned and stared at the blade erupting from his throat. His eyes met Kirk's for less than a second before he fell.

Kirk twisted to meet this threat, but still felt the stabbing pain in his side as his attacker's weapon plunged deep.

His foe was on him in an instant; it was over. Kirk braced himself for a blow that never came.

Chekov entered the fray with a shout; he slit the throat of Kirk's assailant with a grunt of pleasure. The man threw himself at another Klingon, not even flinching as he took a disruptor blast to the chest.

Hikaru was there as well. He hauled Kirk up and dragged him towards the teenager who was still lying on the floor. "Time to go, Captain." He said as calmly as if there weren't a rather one-sided fight going on around them.

How Chekov wasn't dead yet was something Kirk couldn't fathom, and he certainly didn't have time to think about it right now.

Hikaru and Kirk dropped to the ground beside the teen; again Pavel Chekov recoiled in terror. "Easy Pavel." Hikaru said softly. "It's okay. You're going to be fine. It's me, Hikaru. Sulu." Pavel blinked. "Do you remember me?" Hikaru asked gently, as if they had all the time in the world.

After a second, Pavel nodded, and reached forward to grasp Hikaru's hand. Hikaru tightened his grip on Kirk.

The room dissolved and was replaced by the transporter room. Hikaru was up and dragging his bewildered companions off the pads in an instant.

"He set a timer on it." Hikaru explained. He meant Chekov, of course. "Planted some sort of transmitting device in my arm. Said it would transport me and anyone I was touching back in twenty seconds. Said it was my job to get you back." He was now eyeing the transporter controls. "I don't know how to beam people up!" He declared, the stress finally starting to get to him. It was the most upset he had sounded since any of this had begun.

"Here." The teenager lurched unsteadily to his feet. "I get them." He staggered over to join Hikaru.

"You know how to work it?" Hikaru asked doubtfully.

The teenager swallowed nervously. "I read about it." He replied thickly. "Once."

Kirk could only watch as the teenager tried to figure out the controls. He was already too weak to do much else. He had been wounded, and badly. Kirk could see the blood staining his shirt and dripping onto the floor.

Hikaru was by his side again, lifting his shirt clear of the injury to asses the damage. He paled, not an encouraging reaction, and pulled off his own uniform, revealing a dark undershirt. He wadded up the uniform and pressed it against the wound, trying to slow the blood flow.

"Got them." Pavel muttered. Chekov and Sulu materialized; Chekov sank gasping to his knees. Sulu lay still, dead.

Chekov was up again in a second. "Get him to sickbay." He snapped, pointing at Kirk.

Hikaru and Pavel nodded, and Pavel joined Hikaru at Kirk's side. Gently they tried to ease him into a sitting position. He gritted his teeth against the pain and tried to help them help him up.

Kirk had barely made it to his feet when dizziness made his head spin and his vision faded. They were barely able to keep him from falling when he passed out.

* * *

Disclaimer: Star Trek does not belong to me.

Author's Note: So the plan, now that school's started up again, is to update once a week, probably on Mondays or around then, but I'm not making any promises. I'll _try_. Also, of course, please review. Though I hardly need say it, you guys are great about letting me know what you think. It's very gratifying.


	6. Chapter 6

Leonard McCoy scowled. "I'm running late enough as it is." He barked at the nurse. "My wife is gonna kill me."

"I know." She said shortly. It had been a long day, and she was probably just as tired as he was. "But they insisted on seeing _you_. They asked for you by name."

McCoy fought back a curse. It wasn't the nurse's fault. "Did they say what the problem was?" He asked.

The nurse's lips pressed together to form a thin line. "They said it was hard to explain, and when I suggested they do their best they said it was embarrassing and that they needed to see _you_."

McCoy groaned. "All right. I'll take care of it." He grumbled about idiot teenagers as he walked down the hall to the exam room.

Two boys were waiting inside. The first, at a second glance, looked to actually be around twenty; the other was several years younger. The teen, pale and distraught, shot the older man a glare as McCoy entered.

"Well, what seems to be the problem?" McCoy asked.

The older man smiled reassuringly. "He's okay." He said, jerking a thumb towards the boy.

McCoy hesitated. "Then are _you-_"

"I'm fine." Another smile, though there was worry behind it.

McCoy scowled. "Then why are you here, wasting my time? I was told I had a patient, and all I find are two-"

"There _is_ a patient." The teen burst out in the thickest accent McCoy had ever heard. The older man shot the boy a reproving glance; the kid ducked his head uncomfortably.

"We do have a patient." The older of the two said. "But he's not here."

McCoy glared at the young man. "Then where is he? Why didn't you-"

"We couldn't bring him here." The young man explained. "We were hoping you would come back with us."

McCoy hesitated. Something told him this wasn't a good idea. These two strangers watched him, waiting for his response. Urgency burned in the weary eyes of the teen.

Even if there were not another patient waiting for him, this teenager was not as 'okay' as the other man claimed. But if there _were_ someone in need of help…

McCoy sighed. "All right." He submitted. "Let's go."

* * *

McCoy reassembled on a transporter pad. He swore as he stumbled and nearly fell. "What are you trying to do, kill me?" He demanded as the young man steadied him.

"We don't have time for this." A dark haired, older man leaned heavily on the transporter controls. "He is dying."

This man looked to be dying himself, McCoy thought he watched the man straighten up. He was pale, with dark circles under dull, pain filled brown eyes. He seemed to start moving only with great difficulty, as if he were utterly and completely exhausted.

McCoy's fingers itched to run a mediscanner over the man as he led them from the transporter room.

The four walked in silence through the corridors. It made McCoy nervous, as if he were on his way to his own funeral. He eyed the teenager beside him. He too seemed to be in somewhat less than perfect condition.

He walked somewhat stiffly, and around the few places where his shirt was ripped McCoy thought he could see bloodstains.

The kid caught McCoy looking at him. He tried to smile reassuringly. The kid returned the smile; he actually seemed relieved.

Trying to be friendly, McCoy leaned closer to talk. "So, what'd you say your name was?"

"No names, Doctor." The older man called back.

The kid shrugged apologetically. "He's not allowed to talk, either." The younger man added. "It could give away too much." McCoy didn't have a clue what _that_ was supposed to mean, but figured that the kid's accent, as little as he had heard of it, would be pretty hard to miss.

Oh well. "Can _I _still talk to _him_?" McCoy asked sarcastically.

The younger man shrugged. "Sure, I guess."

McCoy turned back to the kid. "You okay, son?" He asked. The kid merely shrugged him off.

They had reached what must have been the medical section of wherever they were. McCoy found the injured man with little difficulty. He promptly forgot all the gripes and complaints that had been running through his mind.

* * *

Pavel yawned, and let himself close his eyes for just a minute. He was sore, and stiff, and confused. He had no idea what was going on. He didn't know what those people below had wanted with him, and almost no idea of who any of these people were. All he knew was that Hikaru was here, and had said that it was okay, and that they were on a secret mission for Starfleet. He also knew that Hikaru Sulu was not a liar.

He had not had time to get to know the man well at the Academy, but he had seen that honor was something that Hikaru took very seriously, and Hikaru had been one of the few cadets at the Academy that Pavel had felt he might actually be able to trust.

Pavel. Wake up." Pavel started as Hikaru sat down beside him.

"Sorry." Pavel yawned again, realizing that he had dozed off. "How is he?"

"The Captain's going to make it." Pavel wondered if the man were indeed a captain. "Are _you_?" Hikaru looked concerned.

"Tired only." Pavel waved him off irritably. He didn't want to think about being back there, or what those _Cossacks_ had been going to do to him. "They rescue you also?" He asked. He _was_ tired. It was so hard to speak English properly when he was tired.

Hikaru shook his head. "I was going to fail my final. They said if I helped them I wouldn't flunk out of Starfleet." He shook his head. "It makes me feel like a complete idiot. I've been studying my butt off all semester, and I still don't have a clue how to do this crap."

Pavel was quiet for a minute, thinking. "Vhat class?" He asked. Hikaru sighed.

"Projective geometry." He admitted. Pavel perked up. "I just don't get it."

Pavel offered a tired smile. "Projective geometry is easy." Hikaru scoffed. "Nyet, it is. Listen…"

* * *

McCoy glared at the older man. "You're hurt. Your _Captain_ is in stable condition. I can help you if you just-"

The older man waved him off as he leaned against the wall. "Thank you, Doctor, but there is nothing you can do.

McCoy fought back a wave of helplessness. "I'm trying to help you, man. You're injured-"

"I'm dead." The man corrected wearily. "I have been for a long time. There is _nothing_ you can do to change that." He hesitated. "The boy was hurt, I believe. You may be able to help him."

"So you're just going to keep going until you collapse, is that it?" McCoy demanded angrily.

"Yes. When that happens, you can do what you want with me."

"I'll hold you to that." McCoy grumbled. Neither the Vulcan nor the other alien would let him do anything for _them_ either.

* * *

Kirk awakened to find himself staring in to the face of a young Leonard McCoy. "Hi." He said, not entirely sure what else to say. He had had such a strange dream. Kirk frowned. Had it _been_ a dream?

"Oh good, you're alive." McCoy greeted him. "Are you going to tell me you don't need a doctor either? Don't sit up." He eased Kirk back down. "Somebody stabbed you, so take it easy."

It wasn't a dream, then. "How did you get here?" Kirk asked. McCoy scowled.

"Two idiot boys beamed me up here so you wouldn't die."

Then Pavel and Hikaru were both alive. Kirk's mind flashed back to Sulu, blade through his throat, and Chekov taking a disruptor blast to the chest.

"Your Vulcan and his friend are refusing to let me near them." McCoy continued. "Your menacing bodyguard is on the verge of collapse." That had to be Chekov. He didn't have much longer, then. But what about Sulu? "There was another man," McCoy went on, gently now, "took a knife in the throat." He shook his head. "Guy never had a chance."

Kirk swallowed a lump in his throat. His Sulu or not, the thought of him dead, and the memory of the look of resignation in his eyes as he realized it, hurt more than he would have expected.

Kirk sighed. This was a nightmare. A complete wreck.

Chekov returned then, and had to grab onto the doorframe as he stumbled. He was white as a ghost, and didn't even try to resist as McCoy braced him and let him to the bed next to Kirk's.

"They have to be able to get back." Chekov finally managed to protest as he fell back into the bed.

McCoy glared at him. "I'm a doctor, not an engineer. I can't work those cursed transporter beams."

"What?" Kirk demanded. What was going on?

"Those two idiots went off to 'rescue' someone else." McCoy complained. "They think they're super heroes, saving the galaxy." Kirk didn't bother explaining that that was exactly what they were trying to do. He hoped they were up for it, as there weren't many other options currently available.

"Who are they trying to rescue?" He asked.

It was Chekov who answered. "You."

* * *

Disclaimer: Star Trek does not belong to me.


	7. Chapter 7

"Look out!" Someone slammed into Jim Kirk from the side, knocking him to the ground as something flashed by overhead. Whoever had tackled him fell with Jim, letting out a yelp as they both hit the ground.

The boy wasn't much older than Jim; a skinny dark haired kid who looked like he'd been in a fight, he was up again in a hurry, trying to drag Jim along with him. "Come." He urged, trying to duck past the antique shop and down a dark alleyway.

Once around the corner, Jim stopped and jerked his arm free of the other teen, turned and blinked in surprise. "Who are you?" Jim demanded, rubbing his elbow where he had landed on it.

The other boy was trying to catch his breath. His eyes were filled with urgency as they darted from Jim to the alleyway entrance and back.

A tall alien, scarred and angry, appeared in the alleyway. The boy uttered some exclamation Jim didn't understand, and stepped between him and the newcomer.

The newcomer leveled some sort of laser gun at the other boy. Jim started to move away from the boy, somehow certain that that blast was not meant for him. It was meant for Jim Kirk. He wasn't about to just stand there and let some other kid get killed for him.

The boy jerked Jim back behind him and gave the newcomer a defiant look. "Fine." The newcomer spoke. His finger tightened on the trigger.

Jim nearly jumped out of his skin as someone let loose what sounded like a war cry from one of those old kung fu movies. Their attacker grunted and fell forward, his shot going wide and hitting Jim's defender in the shoulder. Jim reached out an arm to steady the boy, staring all the while at the newest addition to this odd scene.

The man was in his twenties, and of Asian descent. He stood behind where the alien with the gun had fallen, also out of breath.

"Sorry." He panted. "You okay?" The other boy nodded, even as he bit his lip against the pain. Both of them turned to look at Jim.

"I'm…fine." He answered them uncertainly. What was going on here?

"Then come on. We've got to get out of here." The man spoke quickly, as if in a hurry. Jim didn't move.

"Hang on, just hang on a minute." He said, and the two stopped and looked back at him. "Who are you? Who was that?" He demanded. "He was trying to kill me. What's going on?"

The two dark-haired strangers exchanged a glance. The older man spoke. "We can't tell you, Jim." He said uncomfortably. "But we're here to rescue you."

"Rescue me." Jim repeated incredulously. "Really?"

The younger boy nodded, and pointed to the unconscious alien in the alley with them. "It's not safe here." The Asian said, also looking at the alien on the ground. Jim still didn't move.

"So you can't tell me anything, but you still expect me to go with you. Is that right?" He couldn't believe this.

The two strangers sighed. Again they shared a glance. "This is Paul," the older of the two finally offered, nodding to the boy, "and right now someone really wants you dead. We can't really tell you anything else."

Abruptly the man dropped, dragging Jim and the other kid down with him. Another laser blast flashed overhead.

Paul swore, but Jim was almost sure it wasn't in English. The man scanned the alleyway for some sort of escape. Jim didn't bother pointing out that it was a dead end.

The man's eyes rested on a window above their heads. He moved to stand below it. "Come on." He said to Paul. "I'll boost you up."

Paul gave him an incredulous look, but obliged. He moved quickly; his foot found the other man's hand, fingers intertwined, and his hands caught the window ledge. He hauled himself up and inside.

"Your turn." Kirk stared at him in disbelief.

"You've got to be kidding me." Paul was leaning back out the window, ready to help him up. Laser fire flashed by once more. Jim groaned and followed Paul's example. Paul helped him in through the window, and the two leaned back out.

The other man didn't hesitate but backed up and approached at a run. He jumped, and by some miracle Jim and Paul caught him by the arms and managed to pull him up.

"Now what?" Jim asked. Paul looked up.

"Upstairs." The other agreed. "The roof."

They took off through the room, looking for stairs that lead up. They found them, and dashed upwards desperately.

When they reached the roof, there was nowhere to go.

"Now what?" Jim asked again. Neither of his companions answered.

Paul fixed a frightened gaze on his friend. He looked as worried as Jim felt.

Their assailants burst on to the roof and prepared to fire. _This was it._

The three found themselves standing straight and tall, determined to face their executioners bravely.

They materialized in an odd room and were greeted by two men. Jim's older companion grinned. "Permission to come aboard, Captain?"

The 'Captain' returned the smile, but the other man scowled. "Just what I need." He complained. "Another injury! You're going to sickbay. All of you!"

* * *

Kirk eyed Chekov as he settled back down on the bed. The dying man had taken a turn for the worse during Kirk's trip to the transporter room.

"They make it?" He gasped; all the color was gone from his face. Kirk nodded.

"They made it. The kid took a hit to the shoulder, but the doctor's looking at it now."

"Good." Chekov nodded.

"How-" Kirk didn't finish, but Chekov answered anyway.

"I'm stubborn. I don't really want to die. Not yet, anyway. I'd like to see this finished."

"I'm sorry about Sulu." Kirk said quickly. He wasn't sure _this_ Chekov actually cared, but he needed to say it all the same.

Chekov sighed. "He knew, Captain."

Kirk started. "He knew?" He echoed

Chekov managed a bitter smile. "We both knew we weren't going to make it through this. Admittedly, we both thought _I'd_ go first, but we knew. Why do you think he told Hikaru?" He asked, before lapsing into an agonized silence. He was in pain just trying to breathe.

Kirk hated this. He hated seeing Sulu killed, and he hated watching Chekov die. It didn't matter that these weren't the same Sulu or Chekov, and it didn't matter that if they succeeded, Sulu and Chekov would be alive and well once more.

Right now Kirk was here, watching Pavel Chekov, who had trusted him when he had had no reason to, who had saved his life at the cost of his own, die.

"I think I would not have minded serving under you, Captain." Chekov interrupted Kirk's thoughts. His voice was low; Kirk had to strain to hear it.

"Oh?" Was all he could think to reply.

"Given more time, I would have liked you." Chekov continued. "As it is, I can only say that you seem to be a man of integrity, honor, and strength."

Kirk hated this. "Thank you." He managed.

"Nyet." The man shook his head. "Thank you."

Kirk wondered how much longer the Russian had.

* * *

Pavel glared at the Doctor. McCoy stood there and glared right back. "I said, take your shirt off." He repeated stubbornly. Pavel didn't move.

"Fine." McCoy snapped. "But when that gets infected and your arm rots off, don't come crying to me."

Pavel hesitated for a second longer before he reluctantly pulled of his shirt. McCoy gasped.

Shoulder wound aside, the boy was a mess. His skin was mottled with bruises, scratches, and a few burns as well, to say the least. Someone had _tortured_ this boy. "Good heavens, what happened to you?" McCoy demanded.

Pavel shrugged in reply, and McCoy remembered that he wasn't supposed to talk. "Did someone here do this?" He asked.

Pavel shook his head, but McCoy wasn't completely convinced. There was a lot of odd stuff going on here, and he wasn't sure he trusted some of these people.

Pavel sighed. "Ve Rescue Jim." He said. That was the other teen, McCoy remembered. "Vas rescued also." He said thickly.

McCoy shook his head as he began treating the boy. "Remind me never to get on a Starship again. Too many injuries, and too many people who think they don't need a doctor. I'd hate to have to deal with you people on a regular basis."

* * *

Disclaimer: Like everything other category in which I write on this website, Star Trek does not belong to me.


	8. Chapter 8

"Captain, this is crazy." It had not taken long for Hikaru's use of Kirk's rank to spread to the others. The once familiar title had, however, now become a constant reminder that all was not as it should be. "You want to send three boys to look for someone we aren't even sure they'd recognize and bring him back here of all places."

"We can't risk anything happening to you." Kirk agreed, but there was little choice. He was hardly in any condition to be up and about, and Chekov wasn't going anywhere. McCoy wasn't going to leave as long as he had people to worry about.

Hikaru insisted he was going anyway. Pavel didn't speak, but drew himself up to his full less-than-impressive height. Jim looked around.

"The Karate Kid and I will handle it." He said, nodding towards Hikaru. "Paul's in almost as bad shape as the Captain and this other guy here, and the Doc needs to stay in case something happens. It only makes sense that we should go.

"Absolutely not." Kirk replied. "It's too dangerous. If-"

Jim crossed his arms over his chest. "If it's too dangerous for me to be involved, than you never should have brought me along. There is no other choice. You'll keel over before you get two feet. We don't have time to argue about this. Come on, Karate Master."

Hikaru calmly turned to follow him. Kirk opened his mouth once more to object. "Overruled, Captain." Hikaru interrupted easily.

And they were gone before anyone could say anything else.

McCoy groaned and went back to taking care of Pavel.

Pavel was eventually assigned to the bed on the other side of Kirk. He climbed up there and sat, reluctantly, but did not seem inclined to sleep.

He looked better, but not by much. His eyes were haunted. Kirk wondered if they had been too late, if the future had been changed anyway.

The kid scowled and fingered the skin below his right ear; the injury had been small, and McCoy had healed it, but a small, white scar still remained.

"What happened?" Kirk asked, when the kid realized Kirk was watching him. "It's okay, you can talk."

Pavel nodded. "I know. You are Captain. You know who I am." He rubbed the small scar absently. "They threaten to cut my ear off." He offered as an explanation. "I think I have you to thank, for rescue me. And him." He pointed at Chekov; the man was actually asleep at the moment. "And other man, who die." The boy swallowed nervously. "I do not know vhat they vant vith me." He said, and his voice cracked as he continued. "They say they make me vish I never vas born. Before you come, they vere going to-to-" Again he faltered.

"It's okay." Kirk said softly. "You're safe here."

The kid nodded, and took a deep breath. "I know." He whimpered. "I know." Kirk didn't know what to do as the boy's whimpers became sobs. Again he was struck with the fear that it was too late, that what had happened to Pavel had already messed everything up.

Chekov was awake in an instant; he nearly fell in his effort to get up out of the bed. Kirk watched in awe as the dying man made his way painfully to the frightened child's bed and pulled him into a hug.

"It's okay." Chekov whispered to the kid. "It's going to be all right. You're okay. Hush."

Kirk was startled; here was a tenderness he had thought was lost in this Chekov. Was it simply because he was dealing with a younger version of himself? Or was it something else? Perhaps this Chekov had not changed completely; perhaps traces of Kirk's Chekov still remained.

Eventually the sobs died down to soft cries; the cries retreated to whimpers once again. As the boy finally quieted, Chekov maneuvered him to lie down on the bed. Pavel had cried himself to sleep.

As Chekov staggered back to his own bed, Kirk couldn't help but ask. "Were we too late?" He asked. "Pavel, will he-?"

"He will be fine." Chekov rasped. "He'll be fine." The look on Chekov's face, though, made Kirk realize exactly how Chekov was so certain.

Kirk did not know what to say. It was probably better not to say anything at all, but the sudden weight that settled with the silence was nearly unbearable.

"I'm sorry." Kirk said quickly. He was startled by the short burst of laughter that escaped the other man.

The laugh quickly turned into a cough that brought McCoy over from where he had been watching over Spock and Tirma. The doctor helped the man sit up so he could actually breathe and held him upright until he managed to stop coughing.

"No more knock-knock jokes." He scolded half-halfheartedly, and Kirk wondered what had caused the change in McCoy's treatment of Chekov-he had been all but bullying with all of his patients so far, a tactic Kirk was not only familiar with, but had to admit was probably the only method that would have been effective with most of those present.

Chekov was eying McCoy critically as well as he recovered some of his breath. "You sure you don't want anything for the pain?" McCoy asked, and Chekov shook his head.

"Suit yourself." McCoy said wearily, easing the man back down on the bed. He hesitated for a second, but decided to go ahead and speak. "I saw what you did for the boy." He said softly. "Thank you."

Chekov did not answer, but his gaze shifted to somewhere just past the doctor.

McCoy let the matter rest. "Call me if you need anything." He muttered, moving back to resume his vigil over the two settled in the other corner of sickbay.

Chekov turned to fix Kirk with an incredulous look when McCoy had left. "Why?" He demanded.

"What do you mean?" It took Kirk a second to back track.

Chekov tensed instead of answering. "I'm not one of your people." His voice was hard when he did speak. "Neither was Sulu. Maybe we should have been, but we aren't. We're trying to fix that, and if all goes right, your world will go right back to the way it was as if we never existed. So what does it matter if Sulu dies? What does it matter what happens to me?"

Kirk again found himself at a loss for words. Even if this world's Sulu had not died, even if Chekov did not, if they pulled this off they would be gone anyway-as if they had never existed, as Chekov said. He had, in effect, signed the death warrants of both men when he had awakened on their ship.

"I-"

"Don't say you're sorry again." Chekov interrupted. "Would it be better to leave this universe as it is?" Kirk absently wondered how the man had found the strength to have this conversation, and why it was so important to him to do so.

Chekov scowled at Kirk; the familiarity of the action was surprisingly comforting. "What happens to me doesn't matter if you succeed." He insisted, though Kirk could not entirely bring himself to agree with the statement. "So why do you care?

Kirk had not been expecting that. "Pardon?" He asked.

Chekov did not repeat himself. He simply studied Kirk and waited.

"Why did you try to comfort Pavel?" Kirk asked instead of trying to come up with some sort of answer that would likely make little sense to either of them. "Not because he's you."

"No," Chekov agreed uncertainly, "not anymore." Chekov frowned; he was thinking. Kirk had seen his Chekov wear that expression before. He also recognized the next expression that crossed the man's features: insecurity. He wondered what could cause such a feeling in this Chekov. "I don't want him to be me." He admitted, after a moment.

"I don't know what you've been through," Kirk began, but Chekov interrupted him once again.

"It doesn't really matter-"

"It does matter." Kirk realized that it did matter. It mattered to Chekov, certainly-he had been forced to live through this nightmare-and it mattered to Kirk himself. "Whatever happens-whether we succeed or not-it matters, because whatever you've been through during your life made you into what you are right now, and if not for that we wouldn't stand a chance. We would already have failed if you hadn't shown up in that warehouse."

"You exist right now." Kirk added, when it seemed Chekov wasn't listening. "Right here, right now, you exist. You think, you breathe-"

"Not well." Chekov muttered.

"You feel." Kirk persisted. "Of course it matters."

"It's over and done, Captain." Chekov said wearily. "And frankly, I'm glad that I'll soon be free from this nightmarish existence."

The man offered Kirk a wry grin that was at odds with his last statement. "I'd stopped believing there were people like you, you know. People that actually cared about others beyond what they could get from them."

Kirk wondered when he had started liking this strange, twisted version of Chekov and why he was beginning to feel guilty over the fact that their success would in essence destroy everything the man had ever known.

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Disclaimer: Star Trek sadly does not belong to me. Oh the fun we would have...


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